Bright
by clair beaubien
Summary: Sam came awake in a warm bed in a bright room.
1. Chapter 1

Bright. Too bright.

Sam came awake in a warm bed in a bright room.

Too bright.

Even with his eyes closed and his face pressed into the pillow, the bright light stung into his brain like a spotlight.

"Wh – ?" He wasn't even sure what he was trying to ask; _why_ or _what_ or _who_. He wanted the light off.

"Sammy?"

That was Dean's voice, coming from...somewhere.

"Mmmm—nnnnnnn—rrrrrrr..."

"Am I supposed to understand that?"

Sam turned his face out of the pillow, "Turn th'light...off?" He didn't open his eyes.

"The light? Oh, yeah..."

Sam heard a sound that was familiar but just out of reach and the light dimmed to an orange glare.

"There, I pulled the shade, how's that?"

"Nnnnnnnnnn—rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

Another sound, soft clicks and scrapes of metal on metal and the glare faded to sparking gray. "Okay. How's that?"

"Why's...bright?"

"That's the sun bouncing off the snow. It blizzarded or something while we were – anyway, so, how're you feeling?"

The change in topic was punctuated by the mattress dipping and a warm presence settling next to him.

Dean.

"...happened?" Sam didn't open his eyes.

"You don't remember?"

The question was punctuated by a heavy hand on his shoulder that crept around to the back of his neck.

Bad. Something bad had happened. Something Dean didn't want him to remember.

Sam didn't open his eyes.

"Dean?"

"You should go back to sleep, Sammy. You haven't gotten enough sleep yet."

"... _happened_?"

The punctuation this time was the silence between question and answer and the hand on his neck moved to his shoulder, his shoulder blades, then gripped through the blankets around his upper arm.

 _Bad_.

"Famine happened, Sam. Do you remember Famine? And what happened _after_ Famine?"

 _Famine...famine.._.a black, thick, sulfurous memory choked up from his throat into his mouth through his sinuses into his brain.

 _Famine._

Sam sat up and opened his eyes and Dean was an inch away. The hand on his right arm was joined by a hand on his left arm and the grip was too tight.

The world spun around Dean's face, his shirt, the blanket, the wall, the drape, the ceiling, the blanket, the wall…

"You remember," Dean said.

Sam closed his eyes. The grip loosened but held on.

"I gave in."

"You didn't give in. You fought harder than anybody I know. Even Cas couldn't fight it. If an _angel_ couldn't resist it, what chance did you have?"

" _I gave in."_

The grip tightened.

"You saved me _._ Hey, _hey,_ look at me. You saved me, you saved Cas. Look at me."

Sam opened his eyes.

Dean. Dean was there.

The room spun around him.

Sam closed his eyes.

"I didn't want to give in."

Dean sighed, "Sammy..." and the hands on Sam's arms moved to his shoulders, his back, around his back. "You saved everybody _,_ Sammy. _Everybody_."

Sam exhaled a long, deep breath. "I wanted to protect you."

The grip tightened.

"You did, you did protect me. You did. You protected me."

The gray, sparking glare dimmed into darkness.

The End.


	2. Chapter 2

The wall was hard against Dean's shoulder. He'd been standing here, leaning here, he didn't know how long, staring up Bobby's stairs.

"He sleeping?" Bobby asked, wheeling up behind Dean.

"Yeah. Yeah, he went back to sleep after –" Was it soup Sam drank? Or water? He took painkillers, though, with it, right? Painkillers? Or Dramamine? Or – what? " – _after_."

"Well, then, why don't you set yourself down, too? Get some rest?"

Dean turned his head to look at the red sofa in the dark library. Rest, that was – something. Something he wanted. Something he needed. Something just over there.

"Dean? Before Sam needs you again?"

That word. That ' _Sam_ '. That was –

"What time is it, Bobby?" Sam had come upstairs – when? He'd been sleeping – how long?

"What time is it? I don't know. Still daylight? Barely?"

Still daylight. _On what day at what time in what world?_

"Dean, staring up those stairs ain't gonna change one damn thing."

Staring up the stairs. Upstairs. That was –

"You know Sam'll sleep until he wakes up and when he does wake up, he'll come looking for you. No need to be guarding these stairs in the meantime."

Sam. Sam was sleeping. Sam was –

"Dean? You hearing me?"

Sam was up those stairs.

"I hear you, Bobby." Dean shifted his shoulder and resettled against the wall. "I'm good."


	3. Chapter 3

Footsteps behind Bobby.

Sam was awake.

Barely.

Black eyes half-opened, listing posture, still in his pajamas, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Turning his head from kitchen to library to kitchen.

"Hey, Sam." Bobby wheeled the few feet from kitchen to hallway. "Got some grub for you, if you're up to it. What d'you say?"

Sam met Bobby's eyes, asking every question that had only one answer.

"Yeah, Dean's there. Sleeping. Went down about an hour ago. He told me to feed you if you woke up….Sam? You hearing me?"

Sam looked to the library and back again, staring at Bobby with his dark, half-closed eyes.

"C'mon and have a seat, Sam. Let me get some food into you."

Bobby wheeled to the fridge and stove and table, serving up a big bowl of soup and a small plate of biscuits in just a few minutes for Sam.

Who still stood in the hallway, turning his head from kitchen to library to kitchen.

"Dean wants you to eat, now, Sam. So, c'mon."

Patting the table brought Sam's attention to the food. He stared at it like he didn't know what it was.

"You should eat. Before it gets cold."

Sam stared at the library. The glow of moonlight from the snow outside dimly lit the room. Dean asleep on the couch was just visible.

After the stare, after a sigh, Sam walked to the table. Slow. Stiff.

Unsure.

"Ain't gonna bite you, you know."

Sam put his hands on the chair. He swallowed, then swallowed again.

"I'm sorry." His voice was like breaking glass.

"Sorry? What the hell for?"

Sam flinched, ducking his head. His fingers whitened on the chair back.

"Hell, I'm sorry." Bobby wheeled closer. "I'm not yelling at you, Sam. I just can't think of anything you need to be sorry for."

"For -" Sam shrugged one shoulder. He kept his head ducked. "I'm sorry."

"All right, then. Just sit and get some food in you. We don't gotta worry about anything else right now. Sam?"

Still stiff, still unsure, Sam pulled the chair out. Sitting down only after another hesitation, studying the chair like it might swallow him whole.

And when he was sitting, he only put his hands on the table, one on either side of the soup bowl. He didn't touch the spoon.

"C'mon, Sam..." Bobby tried. Again. Softly. "What d'you say? You don't gotta eat it all. Just – just give it a try."

Sam lifted his head. Not high enough to look at Bobby. High enough as though listening to something.

Footsteps from the library.

Dean was awake.

Barely.

Stifling a yawn. Rubbing his eyes.

Eyes focused on one thing only.

"Hey, Sam. You getting something to eat? Good. Here."

He lifted the bowl just enough to set it down again in the exact same place, then set the spoon into the soup.

"There you go. Go on and eat. Then we'll get you back to bed."

"Okay." Sam's voice was still breaking glass. He lifted the spoon and ate the soup. "Okay."

"Okay," Dean echoed him.

Bobby huffed a sigh. Muttered, "Okay," but was pretty sure no one else heard him. "I'll leave you boys to it." He said that loud enough to be sure Dean at least heard him.

Sam kept his eyes on his soup.

Dean lifted his head that he heard but kept his eyes on Sam.

Bobby wheeled himself to the library and his bed.

The End.


End file.
